


Recalibrating

by tragic_unpaired_electron



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omnic Racism, Omnics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Shambali (Overwatch), continuation of the dragons short, hanzo shows up at exactly the wrong time bc of course he does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragic_unpaired_electron/pseuds/tragic_unpaired_electron
Summary: I have waited four years for a continuation of the "Dragons" short film but Blizzard won't give it to me so I made my own.TW for some mentioned ableism
Relationships: Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103





	1. Zenyatta

Zenyatta had long mastered the art of staying calm under any circumstances. But even he had to admit this situation was…less than ideal.

It had been three hours since Genji had left their hotel room in Hanamura for Shimada castle. He hadn’t been sure exactly when Hanzo would show up, only that it would be sometime that night. After a few months of research, he’d come to the conclusion that this was the best, perhaps the only time he could reach out to Hanzo. The only place he was sure Hanzo would be—once a year, every year, the anniversary of Genji’s death.

There was something about that that Zenyatta found distinctly unsettling. Problematic. Humans were not always logical—not that omnics always were, either—but this action was confusing to him. Hanzo had been an outcast from the Shimada clan for years, returning to the castle meant risking his life. Did he do it in remembrance of his brother? If he was willing to die to do so, why did he try to murder Genji in the first place? Very troubling. It spoke to unpredictability, and a deep cognitive dissonance that Zenyatta remembered well, from the first time he had met Genji.

There is nothing so dangerous as a man at war with himself, Zenyatta had thought at the time. When Genji had first stumbled in to the temple, exhausted from the cold and bitter climb up the Nepali mountains, Zenyatta had seen him only as a desperate lost soul. But the closer he got to the man, the more he could see the fire burning inside him-rage, pain, guilt. The torn and toxic memories of his family left Genji at odds with himself. Unable to face his anger towards his brother, he turned his hatred inward. He wished for death, but did not want to admit his pain. He called himself past redemption, yet he had come to the Shambali anyway. Difficult, difficult. 

But there was a light under all his pain, the soul of the person he had once been. Zenyatta dug it out, slowly, with care. He held the little light and let it grow back into a person. Genji was a different man now. That was not to say he had completely recovered, of course. He would never be the same as he was before the incident. Some nights, in the quiet of the dark he would wake up screaming, dreaming of steel and blood. Zenyatta could not cure this. He had no power to remove those memories, or to reverse what had occurred. But he could hold Genji as the man sobbed, his human lungs gasping, water dripping from his non-cybernetic eye. That seemed to help matters. When the morning came, Genji would be whole and present again.

But Hanzo…Zenyatta could not foresee Hanzo’s actions. He could not imagine what would make this dangerous, unpredictable man “whole” again, but being surprised by his dead brother was probably not it. What would he do, when confronted with his sin? Somehow, Zenyatta doubted his reaction would be peaceful. 

Zenyatta did not doubt Genji’s fighting ability, of course. The man was a former Overwatch operative with a cybernetically enhanced body. He was an extremely capable fighter. 

But Zenyatta could not help thinking: Genji had been a capable fighter in his youth, too, and that hadn’t stopped Hanzo from tearing him apart. It was not like the gap in their abilities had been so great that Hanzo could rip him to shreds and walk away with barely a scratch. It had been that Genji hadn’t wanted to fight. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, hadn’t understood Hanzo’s murderous intent. Genji had almost died, still not believing that Hanzo would ever really hurt him.

The angry, volatile Genji Zenyatta had met years ago would not have made that mistake. But Genji had evolved since then. He no longer welcomed violence, no longer used his anger as a weapon. Zenyatta could not help but worry that this may be his undoing, should Hanzo come after him again.

As Zenyatta contemplated this, the orbs floating around him shook, their golden hue turning a sour purple. He caught himself. He had promised Genji that he would not interfere with what was about to happen. Despite his misgivings, he had to trust his student. He cleared his mind, focusing on the night around him. The sounds of the street below. The feel of the tatami mat below him. The glinting of stars outside the window, like the light glinting off Genji’s helmet in the Nepali sun…

Troubling. He could not focus, his thoughts drifted away from Hanamura and back to his student. The feel of his hand in Zenyatta’s. His bright smile. His confession, only a few months ago, that he saw Zenyatta as more than a teacher, or even a friend…Zenyatta returning his sentiment. He couldn’t lose that, not to the likes of Hanzo Shimada and his hatred. The orbs shook violently, breaking his calm control and shifting into their discord forms. He could not, he could not sit here and wait-

“Master.” A gentle hand lay on his shoulder. Zenyatta jerked out of his stupor. The orbs shifted back into their neutral forms and dropped to the ground with a resounding clang.

“Did I…make you worry?” came the soft voice. Genji knelt down beside him. Zenyatta could not answer for a moment. It had been a long, long time since he had lost control, not since Mondatta’s death. He found himself feeling…what, shame? He was the teacher, he had to be better than this. Zenyatta uncurled his hands, which had twisted into fists without him realizing, and reached out to the orbs. With a dull hum, they rose off the ground and began circling him again.

Steadier now, Zenyatta scanned Genji, looking for any sign of injury. The smallest divet caught his eye on Genji’s faceplate, that was new, he was sure of it. As if he knew what Zenyatta was thinking, Genji reached back and released the faceplate, setting it aside. His eyes glittered in the dim light. So pretty, he was, Zenyatta had always thought so.

“Master!” His voice was louder, more insistent, and Zenyatta returned fully to the present. He had been lost, lost in some kind of daydream of worry and fear. He wondered if this was what nightmares felt like to humans.

“Genji, I…I am sorry. I was worried, and I allowed it to fill my soul with discord. I did not mean to startle you. Are you…did it go well?”

Genji watched him for a moment, then smiled. His smile was always a little crooked, due to a disfiguring scar that wrapped around the corner of his mouth, and it gave him a slightly mischievous look. He reached one hand up to touch the side of Zenyatta’s face.

“After all the times you’ve sat up with me at night, after all the trouble I’ve given you…I don’t think you need to apologize to me for feeling upset. I’m sorry for causing you so much worry.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of Zenyatta’s head with his scarred lips. “As for how it went…I don’t know. I think maybe I was able to reach him, but I guess we’ll see.”

Relief washed over Zenyatta. Taking Genji’s hands in his own, he said softly, “I am so proud of you, my little sparrow.”


	2. Genji, part 1

Genji scraped the last of the rice out of his bowl and chewed thoughtfully. Outside the window, the sun was rising over the Shambali temple.

Three months had passed since that night in Hanamura. He and Zenyatta had stayed in their hotel for a week afterward, as Genji showed Zenyatta around his old hometown. It was odd, being back after so long. He had returned a few times during his time with Overwatch, usually conducting raids on the old Shimada stronghold. But there was a difference between running over the rooftops at night, and walking the streets in the day. This time, it felt more real. Here was the arcade he’d wasted so much time in as a kid, here was his old school, here was the tree he’d carved his name into as a boy. The memories were…difficult to contend with. Even happy memories of his childhood felt as though they were stained. There was a reason he hadn’t come back here before.

But…exploring with Zenyatta had been oddly calming. Things and places that would have given him a panic attack if he were alone were robbed of some of their power by Zenyatta’s soft voice, and the gentle chime of the orbs. It had been almost fun to show him around. They got stares, of course. They got that everywhere they went. Zenyatta’s odd clothing and habit of hovering instead of walking drew a little attention, but most of the eyes were on Genji. To most bystanders, he looked like an omnic, but not a model anyone had ever seen before. With the armor, and his swords on his back, he was more dangerous looking than most humans and even some omnics were comfortable with. When he took off his faceplate to eat at his old favorite ramen joint, the stares got even more intense.

No one recognized him, not even his old friends. Even with his faceplate off, he supposed the damage to his skin was simply too severe for him to be recognizable. He wondered what people would think, if they knew the scary cyborg among them was once the second heir to the Shimada clan. It was not a comfortable thought.

But despite all the attention they were getting, the one person Genji was hoping would notice did not seem to. He wasn’t hiding from Hanzo. On the contrary, he wanted his brother to know where to find him. Genji had reached out to him, offered him help. Hanzo had to take the next step himself. Genji just had to make himself available. He made an effort to be seen around town, especially with Zenyatta, who had checked in to their hotel under his real name. That first night, in the hotel, Genji had waited anxiously, half-hoping that Hanzo wouldn’t come. But as the days went on, with no sign of his brother, his anxiety turned to annoyance. After all that, was Hanzo just going to act like nothing had happened?

“Give him time,” Zenyatta had said, as they checked out and prepared to return to Nepal. “It took you years to get to the point you are at now. He just learned you are alive. Surely he will need time to process.” So Genji had waited. So Genji was still waiting. He and Zenyatta had returned to the Shambali, with instructions that Hanzo was to be treated as a guest if he ever found his way there. Aside from a few missions he had participated in for the new, underground Overwatch, Genji had stayed put waiting for him, putting other obligations on hold. Now, a few months later, Genji sat in the temple, eating breakfast as normal, waiting for a sign.

He got one, though not in the way he had hoped. As he got up to rinse his bowl out, the ceramic slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor. “Shit,” he whispered to himself, as the heads of the monks around him turned towards the sound. He reached out with his right hand to pick the pieces up only to find that his fingers were shaking too hard to grasp them. Cursing quietly, he tried to hide the misbehaving prosthetic behind his back, but wasn’t quick enough.

“Your nerves are out of alignment again, Brother Genji,” came the voice of Sister UD89 from beside him. The old battle unit spoke with the certainty of someone who thought she was being helpful. “I will inform Master Zenyatta immediately!”

“Thanks.” Genji sighed. It seemed he couldn’t procrastinate forever.


	3. Genji, part 2

Genji sat hunched over on his bed, anxiously playing with his glitching right arm. Behind him, Zenyatta was humming softly as he set up the calibrator. Taking a deep breath, Genji started hesitantly, “I mean, is it really a big deal? It’s just one arm, it can wait…” It was the fourth time in the past hour he had made such a claim. He could sense Zenyatta was growing a little impatient with him.

“You know as well as I do that that’s only how it starts,” repeated Zenyatta, laying the calibrator’s cords out on the bed. “And then a day later you can’t get out of bed. I won’t let it happen again. We’ve waited too long to do this already.”

Technically, he was right, though Genji loathed to admit it. Calibration was a twice-yearly ritual for him, and it had been nearly eight months since the last one. It was a necessary evil his cyborg body required. Nearly every function of his body, from his digestion, to his eyesight, to his nerves, had been either completely replaced or partially replaced due to necrosis following Hanzo’s brutal attack. A central computer now worked in tandem with what was left of his central nervous system to keep his body functioning. Every six months or so, the computer required what Dr. Zeigler had once described to him as a “neural handshake” with his body, a calibration procedure to make sure that his organic and mechanical systems were operating on the same page. Without it, incidents like his shaky hand began to happen, and progressively got worse. It had happened when he first came to the Shambali, ending in a seizure that had made Zenyatta very firm on regular calibrations. It wasn’t as bad as his old body, the bulky and uncomfortable prototype that Dr. Zeigler had made for him, which required weekly calibrations. But he still hated the process. This time, however, he had a good reason for procrastinating.

Calibration could not occur while he was awake. Genji had to be practically comatose in order for his brain to commune properly with the computer. It would take almost twelve hours to complete, during which time he would be completely unable to awaken. If Hanzo chose tonight to finally visit the Shambali…

“I just…would hate to leave us undefended. That’s all.” That wasn’t entirely all, but it was a good reason.

An orb knocked gently on the back of his head, and he yelped with surprise. “We are not helpless here, Genji,” came Zenyatta’s voice. “Now hold still. We’re ready to begin.”

Genji gritted his teeth in anticipation as Zenyatta took one of the calibrator’s long cords in his hand, the other opening up a sealed port along Genji’s spine. As the end of the cord made contact, an electric shock shot through Genji’s body. The feeling of his nerves connecting to the computer was like grabbing on to a live wire, if only for a second.

“Are you alright?” Zenyatta’s voice didn’t change pitch as much as a human’s would, but Genji could sense the worry in it. He shakily let out the breath he had been holding and nodded, feeling his head drag with the thick cord connected to it. The first connection was always the worst. The others should be a breeze. It wasn’t that that was bothering him.

“The likelihood that Hanzo will show up tonight is very low, anyway,” Zenyatta continued. “But why don’t you tell me what is really on your mind?”

Genji flinched. Zenyatta read him way too easily. He avoided the question for a few minutes, pretending to be very interested in his shaking hand. He didn’t know why he was having trouble with this. After all, Zenyatta had been privy to everything in his life. But this felt shameful. And he couldn’t think of a way to phrase it that wasn’t a little rude.

“It’s not…human,” he said at last. That was what he hated most about calibration, not the pain or the vulnerability. It was a hard reminder of things that even now he didn’t like to think about—his mechanical body, all the pieces of himself that he was missing, the things that had replaced them. He jerked as another wire sizzled against his spine. What was left of his spine. 

“I know there’s nothing wrong with being mechanical,” he said quickly. He worried about offending the omnic. “It’s not like I’m ashamed of being this way. Not anymore. You’ve taught me not to. It’s just…” he trailed off, searching for the words.

“You don’t want your brother to see you like this.” Zenyatta, as always, knew exactly what to say. Genji swallowed the lump in his throat. He tried to nod, but his spine was locked in by the calibrator’s cords now. “Yes,” he whispered instead. Now that it was said out loud, he felt deeply ashamed. Not only was he insinuating that mechanical beings like he and Zenyatta were somehow not good enough for his brother, he was tossing out all of the teaching Zenyatta had given him over the years about self-acceptance. He felt his face growing hot and his human left eye starting to tear. At least his omnic right eye didn’t betray him like this.

Zenyatta floated gently around and sat down on the bed in front of him. With one of his long-fingered, graceful hands, he took Genji’s glitching right arm. The shaking stopped almost instantly. “Little sparrow,” he began. “I would not expect you to feel any other way.”

Genji looked up in surprise, and Zenyatta continued. “What you have been through is something most beings will never experience. Your feelings are your own. No one is allowed to tell you that you cannot grieve your old body, or that you must love your new one unconditionally. Not even me. I can hope that my teachings give you comfort in times like these, but I do not expect you to adhere to them perfectly. I understand how hard it was for you to appear before your brother three months ago. I understand how the thought of him seeing you under circumstances that you cannot control worries you.”

Oh shit. He was really crying now. It was like Zenyatta had given him permission to feel the worry that had been building up in his chest ever since he had seen Hanzo. That night, when he had revealed himself to Hanzo, he hadn’t known what to expect. A part of him had hoped that Hanzo would throw his arms around him and cry with happiness, though he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, as Genji removed his faceplate, Hanzo had averted his eyes. Was it guilt? Or disgust at the creature his brother had become? The thought of Hanzo walking into his room, seeing his body scarred and weak, hooked up to the computer, was what had really kept him from completing his calibration two months ago when it was due. He had spent so long with Zenyatta, learning to accept his condition, learning that there wasn’t anything wrong with him, but one look from Hanzo had cut deep into his confidence.

The world glowed a fuzzy gold at the edges, and Genji recognized the familiar feeling of a harmony orb floating above him. It cut through the wave of shame and guilt that had been drowning him, at least enough for him to stop crying.

“We must do this tonight, my beautiful little sparrow,” Zenyatta continued, leaning his cool faceplate against Genji’s forehead. “You must take care of yourself, and this is part of that. But I will be with you all night long. And if Hanzo comes…and if he cannot see you for who you are…we will face it together. Like always.”

“Ok.” Genji took some deep breaths, each one stronger and less shaky. “Together.”

Zenyatta moved so he was behind Genji again and maneuvered down so that Genji’s head rested on his chestplate. It was surprisingly comfortable for metal. Zenyatta’s inner mechanics radiated a gentle heat, and Genji could hear the soft sounds of his gears turning below. Zenyatta’s arm followed the cords in Genji’s back up the calibrator, a small black box on the nightstand.

“I will see you soon, my love.” Genji heard his voice fade out and then everything was black.


	4. Hanzo, part 1

The temple of the Shambali glowed in the darkness, casting golden light on the snow of the mountainside. It had a strangely cozy look to it, cossetted against the harsh climate of the Nepali mountain range. It had taken nearly a week of trekking for Hanzo to reach the remote temple, and now that he was here at last, he found himself stalling again. 

Really, whatever he was doing here—and he hadn’t really figured that out yet—he was extremely late for it. There was no reason it should have taken him three months to reach this place, besides his own cowardice. He could have, should have set off that very night in Hanamura, when Genji first came to him, but the shock had paralyzed him. His dead brother had returned to him, not quite in the flesh. The sight of Genji’s face, once handsome, now a maze of scars, filled him with a dread he had never felt before. He had always known that someday, somehow, he was going to be repaid for what he had done. He just never thought it would be like this.

But Genji had left him alive. Forgiven him, even, whatever that meant. He couldn’t fathom it and didn’t want to consider it. When Genji had disappeared, Hanzo had walked back to where he had left the incense and offerings and numbly started to pray. He wasn’t sure what he was praying to, or for, not anymore. He didn’t stop until the first light of dawn spilled over the floor in front of him, and he knew he had to leave.

He had laid low for the next few days after that. The Shimada elders sent men after him every year, in a half-hearted sort of way. This was a game they had been playing for a while. None of them had any hope of killing him. It was just to show him that he was no longer wanted. When the coast was clear, he traveled back to Hanamura. He made a slight effort to change his appearance. He didn’t want to look like a coward hiding from the Shimadas but he also knew that regular citizens were unlikely to talk to him if he still resembled himself. He cut his hair and threw on a thick jacket that would at least fool the laypeople, and headed into town to look for clues.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to look very hard. The eerie green omnic had been the talk of the town for the past week. He had left only a day ago, but not before being seen by just about everyone. It was obvious to Hanzo that Genji wanted to be found. He had left no information as to where he was going, but the omnic he had been sighted with was apparently famous, and a topic of hot contention amongst the human citizens of Hanamura.

“I’m telling you, they’re like this cult or something,” lectured one man over his bowl of ramen. “They live in the mountains and do magic or shit. I can’t believe the government lets them get away with it, it’s definitely no good.”

“That’s not true at all,” a woman at the next table had interjected. “Didn’t you ever listen to Mondatta? They want to make peace with humans and omnics.” Behind her, an omnic waiter shifted uncomfortably.

“Like hell they do!” The man had looked over at Hanzo as if expecting him to back him up. “Bunch of robots peddling superstitious bullshit is what it is. And that guy with the monk? Creepy as hell. At first, I thought he was some kinda freak omnic, but then he takes off his mask and he’s like this…gross cripple or something? With omnic parts on the outside. What kinda man lets that happen to him—” He had broken off quickly at the look on Hanzo’s face. The idiot in the ramen shop was not the only one Hanzo had talked to that expressed their uneasiness over the Shambali monk, or the green “omnic” that accompanied him, but he was the only one who had seen Genji’s human face and his comments made the bile rise in Hanzo’s throat.

Despite the difficulties gathering information, especially after he had put the man in the hospital, Hanzo eventually had an address. Well, sort of. “Somewhere in the mountains, I don’t know where, hire a guide” wasn’t exactly the best intel, but it gave him a starting point. And yet…

And yet it had taken him two months to get on a plane to Nepal. What was he going to do when he got there? What could he possibly say to Genji after all this? That he was sorry about his murder attempt? Or perhaps that he had succeeded in permanently injuring him? The words of the ramen shop idiot rang in his head. Other people, strangers, looked at his brother and saw a freak. What could Hanzo ever do to fix that?

The guilt and shame had warred with his feelings of cowardice for months, until eventually he had forced himself on to the plane. Hanzo didn’t understand it, but Genji clearly wanted to talk to him. He couldn’t leave him waiting any longer.

Now, he surveyed the Shambali temple, searching for a quiet way in. He didn’t know if he would be met with hostility or not, but his instincts were telling him not to raise alarm. He eventually selected a second-floor door guarded by a lone omnic, and notched his bow.

No. No, he couldn’t do that. These omnics were Genji’s…friends? Family? Fellow cult members? He wouldn’t hurt any of them. In the cold, Hanzo stowed the arrow in his quiver and waited. Eventually, the omnic—who hadn’t been guarding the door after all but apparently building a snowman on the balcony—stepped back inside. Moving like a shadow, Hanzo slipped in after him.


	5. Hanzo, part 2

Security on the inside was non-existent. Omnics in brightly colored robes sat in prayer, or at work, but none of them appeared to be on guard. Hanzo had listened in on a few of their conversations for clues as to Genji’s whereabouts. He had found what he was looking for in two monks who were hard at work embroidering a bolt of cloth.  
“Will Master Zenyatta be coming to help us tonight?” Hanzo had been just about to leave when he caught the name. Zenyatta. The omnic accompanying Genji in Hanamura.

“No, it’s just us. He sends his regrets,” replied the second omnic in a voice full of static. “Other matters require his attention tonight. He said he will be on the top floor if his assistance is required.”

“Ah.” The first omnic had a nicer voice box and Hanzo thought he could hear something almost like a giggle in the robot’s voice. “We mustn’t bother him then.”

So Hanzo made his way to the top floor. This other monk, Zenyatta, had been with Genji in Hanamura, so perhaps he was the best place to start. The top floor of the temple was small, and contained only a few rooms, most of which appeared to be storage. But at the end of the hall, Hanzo could just make out the faint notes of music playing. Warily, he opened the door.

The room was obviously someone’s personal quarters, but it wasn’t Zenyatta’s. Hanzo’s breath caught in his chest as he looked over the room. On top of a chest of drawers lay the green katana that Genji had used against him in Hanamura. Next to it was a small framed photo. Two familiar faces smiled up at him from behind the glass. Two brothers, frozen in time.

Across from the chest of drawers was a small bed. Hanzo’s view of it was partially blocked by a black box, about the size of a shoe box, plugged in to about a dozen wires and glowing softly. A screen on its side read: DIALYSIS SYSTEM NOMINAL. SERUM ELECTROLYTES WITHIN REFERENCE RANGES. As Hanzo watched, confused, as the screen changed: INFERIOR VENA CAVA CONNECTION PATENT. GRAFT PATENT. Hanzo stared at it numbly. Was this machine…was it saying what Hanzo thought it was? If it was…how much of Genji’s body was it controlling? How much of Genji’s body had Hanzo destroyed?

The feeling of guilt was clawing back up his throat. He wanted nothing more than to go home, to hide from what he had done. Genji wants to talk to you, he thought. He wants to forgive you. You have to at least try.

Hanzo stayed rooted to the ground for a minute or so, listening to the soft, mechanical melody that was playing in the room, before turning to look at the bed.

Genji didn’t much resemble the smiling boy in the photograph anymore, though Hanzo suspected he didn’t either. His face, all that Hanzo could see of his skin, was covered in scars. He remembered seeing those scars open, so many years ago. As the blood had poured down Genji’s face, Hanzo had thought rather numbly at the time what a pity it was. His brother had always been a vain boy, he was going to hate looking like that on his deathbed. The thought had been a little surreal given the circumstances. The whole thing had felt surreal, like a vivid nightmare. Sometimes, Hanzo almost managed to convince himself that that was all it was.

But here was the proof that it had happened. Grooves and furrows of tissue marked Genji’s face where the blood had once flowed. Metal surrounded the skin on all sides, hiding any further damage. Behind Genji’s sleeping face, a mess of cords and wires flowed out like hair, heading into the black box Hanzo had seen earlier. It was what he had thought, then. Hanzo tried to visualize the anatomy—if dialysis was needed, his kidneys were gone, what else…

He was so focused that he failed to notice that the music had stopped. He did, however, notice when a mechanical voice called out dryly, “you’re late.”

Hanzo jumped. He hadn’t noticed what Genji had been laying on, but now he saw his brother’s head was resting on the chest of an omnic, who was looking up at him. Zenyatta? “I’m sorry, I’m in the wrong place, I—“ he whispered desperately. He remembered Genji as being a heavy sleeper but that was before.

“This one won’t wake,” said the omnic at a normal volume. “We’ve still got…oh, 5.79 hours left until calibration is complete. Until then, he is essentially in a coma.”

“Is he…alright? Is this…normal?” The calm in the omnic’s voice was making Hanzo more nervous, somehow.

“It is a necessary fact of life. It will not hurt him. In the meantime, I restate: you are late. We have been expecting you for months. Had you shown up earlier, calibration would not have been an issue.”

“I…what—who are you? Don’t speak to me with such disrespect!” Hanzo was starting to get annoyed. This robot had no right to interfere in family business, whatever was going on.

“Who am I? I am Tekhartha Zenyatta. I am a teacher at this temple. It was I who, when your brother showed up mad with rage and grief, helped him to move past the damage you did to him.” Zenyatta placed on hand protectively across Genji’s chest, and with the other, gently stroked the side of his face. The gesture seemed shockingly intimate for an omnic. Hanzo met the robot’s eyes, trying to understand what he was to Genji. “I am not often moved to anger. And I do not wish to fight here, over his body.”

The omnic stared him down. It wasn’t many people that were brave enough to do that. Zenyatta was oddly formidable, even laying in bed with Genji asleep on top of him. He radiated a sort of energy that Hanzo found difficult to place. When Hanzo did not reply after a while, Zenyatta turned back towards Genji and continued to gently stroke his face. 

“What is it you have come here for, so long awaited and at such a late hour, Shimada Hanzo?” 

That was the question, wasn’t it. Hanzo fished for his words. “I…felt I had a duty…”

“A duty? To the man you killed? Who was holding you accountable?”

Hanzo frowned. “Well, Genji, he left an obvious trail. I assumed he wanted me to find him…”

“And you do what your brother wants of you? You did not care about his wishes before.” Zenyatta interrupted again.

“Will you—will you just let me speak!” Hanzo burst out. Was this robot trying to start a fight? He was getting so flustered. “I want—I want to fix this—”

“Fix what? What is broken—”

“I MADE A MISTAKE, OKAY?” Hanzo yelled suddenly. The force at which it came out startled him. “I made a mistake, I put some stupid sense of clan loyalty over my own brother and I ruined both our lives. I fucked up and I thought I was fucked up forever, but…” he gathered himself as tears formed in his eyes. “But he’s alive, and he says he forgives me, and…and I have a second chance to be a good brother. I just…I don’t want to fuck it up again!”

He closed his eyes. He had never said those words aloud—not after killing Genji, not after leaving the Shimadas, not even after he found out Genji was alive. The rude monk had teased it out of him. 

“Then you won’t,” came the mechanical voice again, and Hanzo was surprised to feel Zenyatta’s hand on his shoulder. “I confess I was…wary of your motives for being here. I love Genji. I want to protect him. If you feel the same…perhaps we can be allies.” He patted Hanzo gently on the shoulder as music filled the room again. Hanzo realized what he had mistaken for a recording was the monk humming.

“Can he…can he hear that?” Hanzo asked after a while. Zenyatta stopped, thoughtfully. 

“No, I don’t believe so. But I can. And now so can you.”

Hanzo nodded. He knelt down on the floor of the room, in the pose he remembered so well from his time praying at the Shimada castle, and waited for his brother to wake up.


End file.
